The Mug
by Webster13
Summary: Fitz accidentally drops and breaks a mug in the kitchen. Simmons says it's just a mug, but Fitz thinks it means more. (Set during Season 2, so, you know, spoilers 'n' all.)
1. Chapter 1

"You sure I can't take this apart, Simmons?" Fitz muttered as he watched the bag of popcorn slowly inflate inside the microwave. He tapped on the side. "I know it would-would heat up faster if I changed the, uh… the- what's the word?"

"Frequency?"

"Yes, that- if I raised just a bit, popping corn wouldn't take so long."

Simmons sighed. It wasn't one of frustration, but of a calm sort of happiness, and she smiled. Here was her Fitz. It had been nearly a year since the incident which had given Fitz his hypoxia, and he had improved far more than anyone had expected him to. He didn't stumble over his words quite as often, and if he concentrated, he could make his left hand do nearly anything it could do before. She was incredibly proud of his progress, and to celebrate, she was throwing him an impromptu Doctor Who marathon with snacks included, and he was allowed to comment as much as he wanted, even if it usually bugged her.

But all that mattered was that he was smiling again. If he could forget about the trauma they had endured for one moment and enjoy the bliss of sci-fi television while sitting at her side, it would always be enough.

"I'm sure you could set the waveguide to a much more efficient setting, but Coulson has specifically requested we not, quote, 'keep screwing with the appliances, please,' unquote, since the incident with the toaster."

The engineer rolled his eyes as the microwave beeped and he took out the now-fully-inflated bag and handed it to Simmons. She tore it open and dumped it into a large bowl.

"Well, then," she chirped. "I'd say we're all ready for a night of fun. I've got this, but the tea should be done steeping, if you'll grab that." He grinned and went to grab the two mugs of tea, so she turned and began heading toward the TV room.

Suddenly, there was a crash behind her and a short cry of surprise. She whipped around to find Fitz standing there in the kitchen, a look of shock on his face, tightly gripping a mug in his right hand while his left was empty and shaking slightly. A blue, polka-dotted mug lay in pieces on the floor. Orangey-brown tea was everywhere.

"Oh, Fitz," she cried, rushing back and throwing the bowl to the counter. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," he stammered, snapped out of his stare with the mug pieces. "I'm- your mug- I'm so sorry, I- I- I didn't mean it." He snatched the paper towels from the counter and began ripping off pieces, still stuttering. "I'm sorry, Simmons, I'm so sorry, I- I didn't think- I wasn't thinking-" He hastily began wiping the wet floor furiously.

"It's alright, Fitz, it was just a mug," Simmons said as she knelt down and began helping him with the towels. "Let's just get this all cleaned up, then we'll be ready to go again. I wasn't particularly thirsty anyways." This wasn't good. Fitz's hypoxia tended to act up more when he was stressed, and he was stumbling over his tongue constantly now and his hands were shaking intensely.

"No, Simmons, it's not alright," he stammered. "I for-forgot, and I- I mean, I- didn't mean to-" He was interrupted by Simmons laying her hands over his.

"Calm down. Breathe. Nobody's hurt and it was just a mug. What do you mean, you forgot?" she asked curiously, concern on her face.

Fitz took a couple of deep breaths and started again. Simmons noticed tears in his eyes and it was barely detectable that his voice was shaky. "I forgot… about it. That I'm… not right-" he took a hand from Simmons' and waved generally toward his head- "that I can't- with my hand…" Then Simmons understood.

"You forgot about the shaking, so you accidentally dropped the mug when you tried to pick it up."

He nodded. "Yeah. I didn't- I wasn't concentrating, so it fell and then there was- was tea everywhere, and _your favorite mug, Simmons_-"

Indeed, it was one of her favorites. Years and years ago, back at the Academy, they had each gotten the other a mug filled with treats for Christmas, completely independent of the other. She remembered the look on his face when they had simultaneously opened nearly-identical presents. She still wasn't completely convinced he hadn't found out ahead of time what she had bought for him and reciprocated. In any case, she'd kept it with her all this time: at school, on the BUS, and now at the Playground. It had always held her warm drinks in the darkest and coldest of times. The moment had come, though, for its demise, and its broken shards lay sadly between them.

She kept smiling, putting away her sadness at its 'passing,' because she would not let Fitz see her frown at him. Not anymore. "Yes, but it's still just a mug, and I can easily get a new one."

"But it was your _favorite_." He stared into her eyes, almost pleading for her to understand. "You kept it with you all the time, and it was- was _special_ to you." She began to pick up on what he meant. "You cared about it, and now it's _broken_, and it can't be fixed, no matter how much glue you use, or tape, or _bloody therapy_-"

Simmons cut him off by sweeping him into a sudden, tight embrace. She held him as tightly as she possibly could, as if she could squeeze all the fears and doubts in him away.

"I am so proud of you, Leopold Fitz," she whispered. "You are the bravest, kindest, smartest, most absolutely _wonderful_ person I have ever had the gift of meeting. You have done so much for me out of the goodness of your heart, so don't you _ever_ think that that there is _anything_ wrong with you. Yes, your brain has changed, but you are still _everything_ you were before, and more." She pulled back enough to rest her forehead on his. "You are a human being, not an old mug. So don't you ever call yourself broken again, alright?"

Fitz pulled in a shaky breath and nodded slightly. He wrapped his arms around her as they went back to hugging the air out of each other and being content to simply share the same spot on the planet with each other, even if it was on the kitchen floor in an undisclosed location with a bit of unwiped tea soaking into the knees of their pants.

After a moment or two, Simmons whispered, "Do you still want to go on with the marathon?"

She received a quiet, "Yeah. I'd like that."

They rose to their feet, gave each other one last squeeze, then took a quick break to change into clean bottoms. Simmons poured another mug of tea while Fitz popped in the DVD (with his right hand, he made sure). They settled in together on the couch as the TV screen zoomed in on the Earth to a small part of England, a calm before the hijinks could ensue. Simmons squeezed Fitz's hand, and to her pleasure, he squeezed back.

But to her dismay, during the course of the marathon, he never smiled. Not once.


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz threw down his screwdriver in anger. He was _trying_ to put together a special transceiver for Coulson that could securely communicate with the Playground from anywhere in the world in a more handheld, portable format, but it just wasn't working. Nothing fit together quite how he wanted it to, and when he felt like he might just be doing it right, his bad hand would slip and ruin whatever piece he was working on. Yes, he was getting better, but it wasn't enough.

"You okay, there, Turbo?" Mack called from the other side of the garage. The mechanic was installing something-or-other in one of the vehicles. Fitz couldn't remember the name at the moment, even though he should.

Fitz stood up from his desk. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just… I'm just gonna go for a minute." He couldn't stand to look at the results of his failures for one more second. He could feel Mack's eyes trained on the back of his head as he left. Mack had been one of the kindest people to him during his recovery, but he still probably thought the damaged engineer was, well… damaged.

Absentmindedly, after wandering around the base for a while, he found himself standing outside the lab doors. Simmons was inside, tinkering with test tubes and blue liquids and some other probably incredibly useful formulas for the saving of humanity. And he could barely build a transceiver.

He pushed the door open and shuffled over to where she was standing, peering into a tube with something clear in it. "Hey," he began. "Whatcha doing there?"

She turned to look at him. "Why, hello, Fitz!" she exclaimed. "It's good to see you!"

He managed a half-smile. "Well, aren't you chipper this morning."

"I'll have you know I'm doing two very important things at once." Of course. She held out the tube. "Firstly, I've been perfecting a clear adhesive which dries in moments, can withstand high amounts of tension, and is completely nontoxic to humans."

Well, that was Simmons. Always the smiler. She was always happy, so long as she was in her lab and working on whatever project had caught her fancy. He couldn't help but notice that her smile was much brighter than it ever had been while he had been working in the new labs with her.

"Right, making superglue. A matter of national importance," he joked. "What's the other thing?"

Simmons' grin subsided to a much more subtle, but almost more sincere, smirk. She reached under the desk and pulled out a patterned blue mug, plopping it on the table. "I'm proving a point."

It took Fitz a second to comprehend. "Hold on," he stumbled. "Isn't that- I broke that mug a week ago. You kept the pieces?"

"Of course, I did. It's very special to me." She folded her arms. "If you look very closely, you'll see that it's not exactly the same as it used to be. However, I do believe that everything that's happened has made it stronger than ever." She beamed. "The adhesive also makes a wonderful protective coating."

Fitz cautiously lifted the mug to examine it. Sure enough, he could see hairline cracks criss-crossing its surface. There was a tiny chip missing here and there, presumably where Simmons hadn't been able to find the most shattered bits. Nonetheless, it was relatively whole once more. He could feel the hardness of the dried coating, shielding the ceramic inside from any further damage.

"It's still very useful," she continued. "It still… holds things, and the natural components won't poison the drinker, and… oh, where am I going with this-"

"Simmons," Fitz interrupted. "I-" He honestly didn't know how to express his gratitude. He wanted to gush, really, like he used to whenever she did something wonderful. He used to know how. The words would roll off his tongue, praising her cleverness, her intellect, her Jemma-ness, but they weren't there anymore. He waved the mug around pitifully before setting it down.

She looked at her shoes. "I'm sorry- analogies aren't exactly my strong suit."

He hesitated for a second, flexing his hands in place, then suddenly reached out and took her head in his hands, running his fingers through her hair. It felt soft. He pressed his lips to her forehead gently and closed his eyes. He felt her tension melt away beneath him, and she leaned into him, hanging her hands from his arms. His thumbs rubbed her cheeks softly. He breathed a quiet "thank you" into her hairline.

When he leaned back and let her go, she was smiling. Good. He always loved it when she smiled.

"I've, uh, got the newest episode of Doctor Who last night DVRed," she said softly. "We could watch it tonight. If you want."

He could feel the grin glowing on his face, for real this time. He didn't know if he could remember the last time he'd actually felt purely, genuinely happy.

"Yeah," he replied. "I'd like that." And he meant it.

**A/N: Finally done! (This may be the first fic with more than one chapter I've ever finished. I'm so proud.) I knew I couldn't leave it all depressing-like, so I hope you like how I ended it. Thanks for reading! : )**


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